“Ten minutes, Santo!” my race engineer called after me.
I nodded curtly, but I’d barely taken five steps when Juan’s voice carried over the noise.
“Christakis! Heard you’ve got a new toy!” His accent made the taunt sound almost musical. “Is she as dirty as they say?”
I froze, every muscle coiling tight. Slowly, I turned back. “What did you just say?”
“Everyone’s talking about the STD she gave you. When you’re done with your charity case, give her my number.” His smile was vicious. “I like them dirty, and she looks like she gives good—”
My fist was already moving toward his face when strong hands grabbed me from behind, pulling me back. Juan was similarly restrained, laughing as officials rushed between us.
“Tell Tia to call me when she stops faking!” he called out as he was dragged away.
I struggled against my team’s grip, blind with rage. “Let me go! I’ll fucking kill him!”
“Not worth it,” Nikos hissed in my ear as I struggled against his grip. “Beat him on the track where it matters.”
Juan straightened his suit, laughing. “See you out there, Christakis. Try to keep up.”
As they dragged me away, the race director approached, his expression thunderous. One more incident and I’d be disqualified before the race even began.
“Focus,” I muttered to myself, forcing deep breaths as I climbed into my car. The custom-molded seat embraced me like an old friend, the cockpit closing around me in a protective shell.
The moment the lights went green, it was clear Juan was gunning for me. His car appeared in my mirrors constantly, probing for weaknesses, diving into corners with reckless aggression. TheBelgian forest blurred into green streaks as we thundered through Eau Rouge, my body compressing under the G-forces.
We were locked in a lethal ballet across the undulating circuit—aggressive overtaking through Les Combes, late braking into the Bus Stop chicane, endless attempts to push the boundaries of what was legal. I gave as good as I got, refusing to yield even a centimeter to that asshole.
As we screamed down the Kemmel Straight at over 330 km/h, I enjoyed the fantasy of seeing his car careen off the track and, if I was lucky, burst into flames. But I needed to beat him fair and square. For myself. For Tia watching from the stands.
Three hours later, after a grueling battle that left us both physically drained, the checkered flag waved. I’d managed to edge him out by mere tenths of a second, and the victory tasted sweeter than honey.
I skated to a stop, unbuckled my seatbelt and leaped from the car, immediately swarmed by everyone from my pit crew to my trainers to the media. The flash of cameras blinded me, and the voices threatened to drown me.
Juan stood a few meters away, glowering at me, furious at being bested. I didn’t give a shit about being the gracious winner or offering to shake hands.
Reporters peppered me with questions and my crew clapped me on the back, eager for the chance to dissect every stage of the race as we always did. But I simply did not have the time.
Winning should feel good. It should feel like everything, but not right now. Not until I saw her.
I began to shoulder my way through the crowd, searching for Tia, but Dimitrios found me before I could get very far, seizing me and dragging me into a bear hug.
“Congratulations, nephew. That was a race to behold!”
I hugged him back briefly, already trying to extricate myself when Konstantin appeared, his usually stoic face split by a smile I hadn’t seen since he’d been shot two years ago. He pulled me into a surprisingly powerful embrace.
“Masterful driving,” he said, his formal tone at odds with the warmth of his hug. “Your control through Eau Rouge was perfect.”
I nodded my thanks, but before I could break away, my father shouldered past both men and extended his hand formally, as though we were concluding a business meeting rather than celebrating my victory.
“Good job,” he said somberly, his expression relaxed.
I shook his hand, but my attention wasn’t on him. I craned my neck past his shoulder, scanning the VIP section for the only face I truly wanted to see. For Tia.
Instinctively, my father understood, and pulled me aside. “She and Kayla are in the ladies’ room,” my father told me, but before I could move, he added, “There’s something you should know.”
He regaled me with details of the entire scene that had taken place at the VIP lounge, starting with the general nastiness from Katalina and her friends and the way Tia had stood up to them.
I became angry, already plotting ways to have Katalina disappear from our lives forever. It was borderline harassment at this point, and I’d press the lawyers to go after her.
